


Forgive but Don't Forget

by infernalandmortal



Series: Memori Week 2018 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalandmortal/pseuds/infernalandmortal
Summary: “I know,” Murphy says. “And I know you trust him. But I also know he’s got a temper hotter than his mother’s explosions.” Jo snorts out a laugh. “Just make sure you’re not ignoring this stuff. Don’t get sucked into something abusive.”“I won’t,” she says softly. “But I’m not ready to forgive him yet.”Murphy nods. "That's the Murphy family philosophy. Forgive, but don't forget."--Murphys don't do betrayal well. Murphy and his daughter both find that out the hard way. Set in my Little Beast verse. For Memori Week, Day 5





	Forgive but Don't Forget

Murphy knows something is wrong the minute his daughter slams their front door.

“Jo?” he calls from the dining room. “Jo, what’s wrong?”

Jo stalks in. Murphy knows this is something bigger than a teenage tantrum - mostly because she’s a Murphy, and never has those - the moment he sees her red, tear-filled eyes and tangled dark hair.

“Jova Victoria Murphy.” He uses her full name to get her attention. When she looks at him, he wants to wince. She looks like hell. “What happened?” 

His daughter is usually composed, never one for theatrics unless she’s dramatically imitating one of her friends, something he supports wholeheartedly. Seeing her like this is concerning, to say the least.

“What happened?” he asks again. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you’re upset, and I know something probably didn’t happen at the diner, because Anya never lets anything happen at the diner.”

Jo doesn’t even smile. She turns her head to the side, revealing a dark bruise blooming on her cheek and a matching set of small bruises on the side of her neck.

It takes every ounce of Murphy’s willpower to not react in sheer anger. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, curling in on herself as if someone has punched her. “I’m going upstairs.”

Murphy stands up. “Jo, sit down.”

She freezes and slowly turns on her heel. Her blue eyes are dark. “What?”

Anyone else would assume that she’s angry, but Murphy knows better. He knows she’s about five seconds and one gentle word away from breaking down in tears. “Are you-”

“Jo!” Jake shouts, bursting through the back door. Murphy winces despite himself when the screen door bangs against the kitchen cabinet.

“Hello to you too,” Murphy grumbles affectionately, stepping aside to let his daughter’s best friend through. He senses something is off a second later; Jo’s not making a move toward him like she usually would. She standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, her breath shaky and her hands trembling.

“Jo,” Jake says, softer, and Murphy hears his voice shake. “Jo,  _ fuck _ , I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do it.”

“You did this?” Murphy growls, all kindness gone in the face of this  _ sixteen-year-old bastard who hurt my daughter _ . “What the hell, Jake?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jake says, raking a hand through his hair. “I was in a fight and-”

“No,” Murphy says, raising a finger. “Jo, talk. You shut up.”

He turns to his daughter. “What happened?”

“I broke up a fight,” Jo says. Her voice is hollow. “Between Jake and these two guys. I called him and asked him to come kick them out of the diner. It was just me, Alex and Chera Blake on shift, and we’re not strong enough to take them.”

“How did Jake end up punching you?” Murphy doesn’t get it. Jake opens his mouth to speak, and Murphy levels him with a glare. “Bite your tongue.”

“He wouldn’t stop!” Jo cries. “One of the guys said something and Jake just kept whaling on him! I thought he’d get arrested for it or some shit, so I went out there to pry them apart and Jake hit me and grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the wall.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Jake shouts. “I got carried away; I swear I didn’t know it was you!”

Murphy wants to kill this kid, consequences be damned. Jake has a temper - everyone knows this - but his kid’s never been on the receiving end of any of Jake’s rage or anger. 

Jo is still hurt, and probably scared, but she’s channelling that pain into rage now. “You didn’t realize that your five-foot-four, biracial best friend was different from a muscled-out white racist?” She laughs. The sound is dark. “You need to get your eyes checked.”

Jake looks helpless, which would be hilarious if Murphy didn’t want to strangle him. “You need to get out,” Murphy tells him. “You hurt my kid, and there will be hell to pay. Go straight home. I’m calling your mom.”

Jake leaves without a fight. The moment he goes, Jo collapses into tears on the kitchen floor.

“Come here,” Murphy murmurs, kneeling in front of his daughter and wrapping her in a careful hug, letting her cry herself out. “I’m so sorry, kid. So sorry.”

She sniffles and lets out a sob. “It hurts,” she gasps. “My neck hurts.”

Murphy’s throat aches in sympathy. “Come on,” he says after a moment, reaching down to pull her to her feet. She looks so small; he wishes he could carry her like he used to when she was little and broke her leg falling out of the tree in their backyard. “Let’s get that taken care of.”

She sits on the edge of the bathroom sink while he rubs some arnica cream into the bruises on her neck and the one on her cheek. His jaw clenches tighter and tighter every time she flinches, but he somehow manages to keep his cool.

“Better?” he asks. She leans against the mirror and nods wordlessly. The phone rings, making them both jump. “Stay here, okay?”

Murphy picks up the landline in his and Emori’s bedroom. “Hello?”

“Remind me again why you have a landline?” Anya asks without preamble. “It’s the twenty-first century. Act like it.”

“Anya-”

“Anyway, I hear about what happened with your kid.” Anya sounds gruff, but Murphy knows from experience that she’s really pissed. “I told Jake he’s not coming in any time this week where he’s working with Jo. She doesn’t need that shit.”

Murphy sits on the edge of their bed and rests his elbows on his knees. “Thanks, Anya.” He sighs. “I don’t know what the fuck to do here. He’s never done anything like this before, but this fucked her up real good. Her trust in him is really shaken right now.”

“Just let her calm down,” Anya says. “I don’t know how, but she’s a good kid, despite your genes.” Murphy snorts. “She takes a while to process, but she always comes out swinging in the end. She’ll be fine. She’ll probably even forgive him.”

“I might not,” Murphy grumbles. “And Mori’s going to flip her shit when she finds out. And she carries knives, so I have no confidence in Jake’s survival rate.”

Anya laughs. “Em will be fine. Just focus on your kid. And tell her I gave her tomorrow off. Augusta is going to needle her about that face, and I’d rather not have her deal with that.”

“Thanks,” he says again. “What were those guys saying, anyway?”

“The guys that Jake threw out?” Anya’s voice is tight. “I’d rather not repeat it.”

Murphy sighs and lets Anya hang up before returning the phone to its cradle and going back to find Jo. She’s sitting on the floor in front of the cabinet under the sink, rifling through her mother’s makeup bag.

“This stuff covers up anything,” Jo says in wonder as she swatches Emori’s foundation on her arm. It’s a shade or two too dark for her, Murphy notes. “Damn.”

“It’s for your mom’s tattoo,” he says. “When she needs to appear normal or whatever.”

“Darn those societal constructs,” Jo says drily, and Murphy laughs because she sounds so much like Bellamy. To his relief, she smiles up at him, sounding more like herself every minute.

“You alright, kid?” he asks her, sitting down on the floor, his back against the tub.

She nods and sighs. “I’ll be fine. I was just shaken, I guess. And pissed.”

“And hurt,” Murphy supplies. Jo glares at him. “Look,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “You talk a big game, but there’s no shame in being hurt. What he did was unreasonable and painful and hurtful, and he has no right to expect forgiveness.”

“I will forgive him though,” she mumbles, not looking at her dad. “Does that make me sick or what?”

“No, Jo,” Murphy says, sighing and cursing the genetics that made her just like him in so many of his worst ways. “There’s a difference between letting someone hurt you because you don’t care or because you think you don’t deserve anything else, and forgiving someone after they’ve wronged you because you love them and know they can be better.”

“He  _ is  _ better,” Jo insists. “He’s never done this before.”

“I know,” Murphy says. “And I know you trust him. But I also know he’s got a temper hotter than his mother’s explosions.” Jo snorts out a laugh. “Just make sure you’re not ignoring this stuff. Don’t get sucked into something abusive.”

“I won’t,” she says softly. “But I’m not ready to forgive him yet.” 

Murphy nods. "That's the Murphy family philosophy. Forgive, but don't forget."

Jo looks up at him, and her eyes go glassy from tears. “He really scared me, Dad. I thought he was going to choke me or something.”

The faint scars on Murphy’s neck throb and his heart aches. “I understand. Believe me.”

Jo knows the story. Her eyes soften. “Can we not tell Mom about this?” she asks.

“She’s going to figure it out,” Murphy points out. “She’ll see your face and not stop asking until you cave.”

Jo groans. “Fine. But I’m telling her."

* * *

The second the three of them sit down for dinner, Emori realizes something is off.

“Jo, what happened to your face?” she asks, eyes wide and voice alarmed. “And remember, I taught you to lie.”

Jo stares at her plate the entire time she tells the story. By the end, Emori is practically vibrating with rage.

“And you never thought to call me?” she seethes at Murphy. “Really, John? Someone hurt our daughter and you didn’t call me?”

“Mom, I didn’t want him to tell you!” Jo interjects. “I wanted you to hear it from me. Or preferably not at all,” she mutters.

Emori pushes her chair back from the table and stalks outside, into the backyard. Murphy follows her, pausing quickly to drop a kiss atop his daughter’s head.

When he steps out onto their tiny, cracked concrete patio, he sees Emori standing near the fence, her arms wrapped around her torso. Her shoulders are shaking. She’s crying, either in anger or in pain, and it makes Murphy’s stomach do a slow roll.

“Come here, Mori,” he murmurs, turning her toward him and cradling her head against his chest. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

“He hurt our daughter!” Emori hisses through her teeth. “I don’t care if he’s my best friend’s son - he hurt her! She trusted him and he hurt her!”

This is ripping open both of their old wounds, he realizes as he slowly rocks his wife in an attempt to soothe her. “I know, Mori,” he says again. “But we need to focus on Jo right now, okay? We can yell at Jake some other time.”

Emori leans backward, wiping her cheeks. “You bet your ass I will. And Raven’s going to get a fucking earful tomorrow.”

“I can guarantee she’s already lecturing her kid,” Murphy says, squeezing Emori in a tight hug before tilting her chin up with two fingers so she looks at him. “Hey. She’s going to be okay.”

Emori nods, though she doesn’t look convinced. “I know. I just…”

Murphy understands. “She’s tough. She’s like her mother.”

Emori gets up on her toes to kiss him. “And her father.”

“Quit making out and come back inside!” Jo shouts from the dining room window. With a sigh, Murphy twines Emori’s fingers with his, and they walk back inside, hand-in-hand.


End file.
